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dovithedarklord · 10 months ago

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Stucked - Part 4

You're trapped in a game and a new threat is lurking.

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Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x reader, Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader

Tags: Mentions of death, Mentions of blood and gore, Blood and Violence, Sexual Scenes, Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Not Beta Read, AFAB Reader

Trigger Warning: Contains blood and gore, violence, some body horror, and some dubcon (lightly). Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

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Author's Note

The story gets more complicated and violent, so be prepared!

I've been watching way too many horror movies again, and I was sick too, so I gathered some firsthand experience for some of the sensations our poor MC has to face. But now I feel much better, can't say the same about her... Well, there's that :D

Have fun! :D

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

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The sound of soft laughter fills the walls of the house, painted golden yellow from the fire, and the lingering shadows of your companions loom over the carved wood like nightmarish demons. And with each step, you get closer and closer to the deceptive cheerfulness that unfolds below, which flows like a sick play around the laid table. As if an idyllic moment was snatched from a comedy movie meant for children and families, every minute of which is full of perfectly written laughter and undisturbed joy, but every giggle crawls into your ear canals on the slimy legs of a disgusting maggot, to bury itself in your brain and push you closer to madness with each minute.

You sneak closer to the stairs with careful quietness, unable to take your eyes off the scene unfolding in the middle of the spacious living room, because you're afraid that if you draw attention to yourself sooner than necessary, you won't have a chance to escape. Although the treacherous little voice in your head warns you that all your chances of disappearing from this terrible, artificial world were lost when Simon closed his arms around you.

And you reflexively look for the blond man, and as soon as your strained gaze finds his burly figure sitting at the table, terror envelopes your stomach in an icy grip. Every bit of him is deceptively calm, and he rests next to Johnny in his chair with such careless relaxation as if he always belonged there at the birthday dinner. But you see the waiting danger in his eyes, which makes him look like a wolf killing some time before finally tearing his victim to pieces, who doesn't even know that they willingly laid their neck in his open jaws. And it seems cruel how the two girls engage in a light-hearted conversation with the two men amid wild gesticulations and cozy delight, because you know exactly that each carefree sound that leaves their mouths is a precursor to a painful scream in the dead of the night.

Every member of yours is protesting against going down, and your legs tug you back like leaden weights, as you try to drag your body, heavy with fear, forward. As if with each step, the thread that binds you with weak fingers to the fleeting promise of survival is unraveling a little more. You'll have to go down though. Because if you hide, you risk the wrath of the game. You need information to get a new clue, and if you don't join this miserable charade, you'll lose any chance of finding anything. You have to do it even if every cell of yours screams agonizingly with dread.

The polished wood of the stairs creaks as you slowly descend the steps, and the eyes of the two men fixate on you almost on command, like two hungry vultures before which the delicious meal has finally appeared. And you realize bitterly that it's not so far off from reality, because you're probably only a few hours away from someone quenching their thirst with your still-warm blood after they've hunted you down like an animal.

NO! Enough! You can't think that! Even though this wretched place wants to make it difficult for you to win, you must not let it get its way, because then you'll wither away in this quicksand of raw flesh and screams, stuck in endless suffering. You must not let it win. You won't let it win.

Your determination eases the trembling that shakes your knees wildly, and as you reach the bottom of the stairs, you straighten your back out, because these two bloodthirsty monsters must not see that they were able to plant the seeds of hopelessness in your mind. Even if this bitter feeling has taken root, you should not allow them to find morbid joy in it. Because that would be equal to your defeat.

"The birthday girl is finally here!" Pam exclaims enthusiastically as she turns back to you to look at you, and for a moment her kindness breaks your heart as you let her spring up and lead you to the empty chair at the head of the table with tender, friendly love. You don't deserve a minute of her attention, even if there's nothing real behind it. A fictional creature, whose empty shell is filled with life by the game, just so that it can take this temporary existence away as painfully as possible. But still, as she pushes you down to the chair with a warm smile and squeezes your shoulder excitedly, your throat tightens painfully with pity. You gave up trying to save them a long time ago, you forgot the compassion you felt for them, yet now your brain, overloaded because of the impossible events, allows you for a moment to feel sympathy for them. "The best place belongs to the celebrated!" She chirps, and when she's certain that you've made yourself comfortable, he strolls back to her seat, with such an unworried spring in her step that you recall quite cruelly how quickly this lightness turns into desperate fear as she runs for her life. And despite this sugary-sweet show, it'll happen soon enough.

And even to you, it's strange how the whole dinner scene begins with such familiar movements, even though Simon has intruded on the well-known story as an uninvited guest. And this might be because he only occasionally interjects a short comment into the smooth flow of events, otherwise not disrupting the dialogue that you have already heard torturously many times. If he does answer, the game bends the threads of its own story so smoothly that, in spite of the new change, you end up in exactly the same place where you have always been. And this fills your soul with such fiery hope that suddenly every cell of yours ignites with the wild desire to act, because if the presence of the masked man doesn't lead the story in a completely new direction, then there is a chance that the clues will still be there where they were before you discovered them... And that makes the doubts clinging to your gut seem to withdraw, and you feel that you can finally breathe for the first time since discovering the book.

"It's so nice of Johnny to put together this dinner, isn't it?" Rebecca chimes in, lifting another bite into her mouth with her fork, carrying her gaze around on the myriad of appetizing dishes displayed on the table with real delight. And you tear yourself out of the continuing web of your thoughts with a startled wince, in which you've been immersed far away, already browsing through the series of clues you've found so far. You run your confused eyes through the group at lightning speed, and when you meet the girl's puzzled expression, you reluctantly turn your attention back to them.

"Yeah... It's very nice of him." You blurt out your scripted, well-rehearsed dialogue, and although your tongue almost goes numb under the weight of the lie, you’re able to force the faint line of an authentic-looking smile on your mouth.

Although everyone seems to calm down, you see sparks of interest in Simon's eyes. And as you carefully look at him and your gaze intertwines with his, you see the unmistakable lines of a smile appearing around his eyes in the warm light. But there is nothing comforting about this gesture, because an almost condescending kindness emanates from his every cell, and this makes him look like no more than a spectator of an unfolding sad comedy. And if he really knows that you're not from here, then all ot this is really nothing more for him than watching a movie up close, the end of which he's perfectly aware of. But you can still surprise him. Because you won't let him think he's in charge. You just have to find a clue…

And you jerk back, almost startled, as Johnny's face swims into your vision, thus hiding the sight of his friend from you, and the change happens so suddenly that you just stare into his cheerful blue eyes, blinking with bewildered surprise.

"It's nothing! I'd dae anythin' for my wee lil' Bunny!" He utters enthusiastically, and although his words don't sound like lies, fear snakes into you along his deep voice. Because this sentence has never appeared anywhere before, and it's so new to your shocked brain that you're unable to register how one of his tanned hands slowly slides onto your fist gripping the fork, wrapping around it like an anaconda on its prey. And even though his touch is light as a feather, you feel as though he's squeezing you in a way that makes all your bones crack, like a couple of dry tree branches. What's this again? Why does the story diverge if it has followed the main storyline so far?

"You're such a lucky girl! I would sell my soul to be treated so well by someone!" Pam sighs longingly, and as she folds her hands in front of her chest with feigned offense, your confusion deepens. Because suddenly this whole horrible interlude takes a turn that is completely unknown to you. Up until now, it's been Pam who has had any sort of romantic streak, because she's the one who gets killed for living out her lustful passion. Thus far, you've never been the center of attention in this way, not even at any level worth mentioning, and the realization that now this is just another complication and death flag cuts into your brain like a knife. And suddenly you feel that the taste of the food turns to ash in your mouth, the dryness of which drags the waves of nausea up your throat.

"Is there something wrong?" Rebecca's worried question cuts through your shock, and as you realize that every pair of eyes is staring at you, you’re filled with the desire to escape. But you don't even dare to move, because you're afraid that every irresponsible action you make will trigger an avalanche that will have harsh consequences.

"I think my stomach is a little upset. Maybe I caught something." You try to explain yourself weakly, and with every nerve you attempt to force authenticity into your features, slowly releasing your hand from Johnny's grip. You have to wait to see what else changes, and to have the slightest chance to search for hints later. Because if you're not careful enough, you lose all hope of even finding a clue.

"Oh, poor lil' Bunny." Johnny grumbles, and although there is some pity in his voice, a hideous undertone lurks behind the sympathetic words that make goosebumps prickle on your skin in an instant. And maybe an outside observer would think that there are indeed wrinkles of kind concern on his face, but you see the joy in his eyes. Like you've just given him something he's been waiting on pins and needles for. "Let me help ye!"

And you soon understand how he wants to help you. Because, as the chair cries out with an ear-splitting scream, when he pulls it uncomfortably close to you, then it's too late for you to escape. The wolf has already found you, and you can do nothing but watch with stunned helplessness as it starts to devour you.

Not a single sound can escape your mouth, as your protest gets stuck under the lump that jumps into your throat, and you freeze in fear as one of Johnny's big hands slides over your back with easy naturalness. And as his warm fingers begin to draw slow, soothing circles on your back, as if he really wants to drive away your growing sickness with his gentle touch, but you go as still as a statue, completely unmoving. You're unable to turn away from the man, whose gaze is fixed on you with such intense attention, as if someone had hypnotized him. But you already know better than that. You see those ice-blue eyes gliding across your face, and you know that he finds his joy in the frightened curve of your eyebrows, the motionless panic of your eyes, and the quivering line of your lips, like a hungry hyena feeding on terror. And as, during his seemingly innocent adventure, one of his fingers almost imperceptibly slips under the clasp of your bra, crumpling the soft material of your t-shirt, that hungry grin appears on his mouth, with which a beast flashes its teeth at its victim. And the scene in the kitchen takes shape in your brain so quickly that you're unable to hold back the frightened whimper that erupts from you.

"There's no need for that... I'd rather rest." You try to oppose meekly, carefully choosing each of your terrified words, and when you pull back from the man's suffocating proximity, his palm spreading over your back prevents you, holding you back as easily as if it wouldn't be more to him then just a minor inconvenience. And you’re probably right, because even though you can see the cords of the sculpted muscles dancing on his arm from the corner of your eye, his whole body still remains in your personal space with unmovable carelessness.

"Dinnae be silly!" Johnny silences your protest, and from the curve of the smile on his lips, the tentacles of anxiety growing inside you cling to every single cell of yours. Because it suddenly becomes painfully clear that you've fallen into a trap and you don't even have a chance to flee. "I'll help ye... ye'll let me, won't ye?" He inquires, but there is something very certain about his question, as if he asked it just for the sake of fun, because he already knows the answer anyway. And why wouldn't he act like that? He slyly lured you into his arms, and now it's time for him to enjoy the fact that you’re exactly where he wanted you all along.

And although your brain is feverishly working on excuses that you can use to escape, like a frightened little rabbit running from wolves, the man gets to work much sooner. His wandering hand on your back crawls up your spine with the deadly slowness of a snake, and as his fingers dance along each small bump, you instinctively get a chill from the condescending tenderness that mixes with his touch. And you feel how the tiny little hairs stand up in the wake of his fingertips, and fear spreads through all your limbs, as if a paralyzing poison had been injected into you. And if resistance had even crossed your mind, then all your stray thoughts disappear immediately, because as soon as he clamps his hand on the back of your neck to lock around it, you freeze as terrified as if you had turned to stone.

You see the cheerful sparks in his eyes as he recognizes how obedient he has made you become, and you helplessly let his free hand, which has been resting on the table until now, come to play on the feeble stage of your body. And although you’re unable to take your eyes off his face, you catch in your periphery as he touches your knee almost teasingly, and you can't suppress the trembling that moves inside of you as his fingers begin to slither toward your thigh. You can feel the heat emanating from him even through the material of your pants, and you swear that the imprint of his palm almost burns into you as he stops to grip the soft flesh.

And like a wild animal about to feast, he flashes all his teeth with the grin that moves to his face, and as he rests his forehead on the crook of your neck, the treacherous warmth in your stomach rises in addition to fear when, following the hoarse laughter that rises from his throat, as his hot breath fans over the sensitive skin.

You turn your eyes to your surroundings in desperation, but all hope is gone when you see the expression on your companions' faces. Because the mouths of both girls are frozen in languid smiles, and they're watching the obscene moment unfolding in front of them as if it were the most natural thing in the world that someone climbs on you in the middle of a birthday dinner. Like they're watching the finale of a romantic movie, not Johnny slowly eating you alive like a starved dog. But it makes you even more upset when you glance at Simon as a result of a thoughtless reflex, because you immediately regret that you dared to look at him at all. The man continues to rest in his chair with undisturbed calm, and as he carelessly throws his hand on the back of the chair and tilts his head to the side, he follows the wet path of Johnny's mouth as his lips travel to the pulsing veins on your neck with such morbid interest, as if it were nothing more to him then some light fun. And you realize with alarm that you can't hope for help, because the game is more than happy to let this whole horrible situation continue, even if it goes against its own rules...

And when you feel the blunt edge of one of Johnny's canines drawing his mark into your skin with almost mocking fondness, that something that has so far locked your body in a paralyzed shackle snap. Because now you know for sure that nothing will happen the same as before, and your only chance to survive is to disappear from here right now. An unknown strength of determination moves into you, and you tear yourself out of his arms so unexpectedly that even he flinches back in surprise for a moment as you spring up from your chair.

"That will be enough! I better rest." You break the stunned silence, and although it's impossible not to hear the fear hidden in your voice, the decisiveness grows much stronger. And despite the fact that you feel that this small rebellion is already disturbing the apparent calm of the game, you don't care. You have to escape, because if you don't get out of their sight, your hours are numbered. And you can no longer allow yourself to die irresponsibly, no matter what lies ahead.

But just as you would take advantage of Johnny's surprise to free yourself from the prison of his thick arms, someone who has been watching this madness as a silent spectator until now finally joins the events. Simon leans forward in his chair with nerve-wracking slowness to look up at you with his elbows on the table, and that's enough for the sinister spasms of panic to close around your stomach in a violent embrace. Because you see the light that dances in those dark eyes... And they tell you that you made a big mistake, and he'll punish you for it with the greatest pleasure. He warned you, didn't he?

"Sit down." The man motions his head towards your chair, and his statement sounds much more like an instruction than a request. You'd be foolish to think he's only making suggestions when you see how menacingly his hoodie stretches over his broad shoulders as he hunches over the festive table. "The party's about to start." He adds, and you don't like the amusement in his tone at all. Like he’s already amused by something, which you have no idea of yet.

"I don't want to." You squeeze it out of yourself, and although you try to put confidence on your face, it doesn't escape the masked man's attention as you force down the stomach acid pushing up into your dry throat with a frightened little swallow. Because you can see his mouth open under the dark textile covering his face, as he follows this small movement, and from the play of the light of the fire, it looks like he's grinning...

But before you can even decipher what kind of storm might be brewing, you're distracted by something completely different. And as you feel Johnny's hot breath penetrating the thin fabric of the t-shirt covering your belly, you turn back to him in fear, but it's too late. You were too irresponsible, and you lost sight of the monster, in whose claws you have been writhing on the fading edge of safety. And now, as his big hands find the round curve of your hips and his fingers playfully grip it, you already know that the fragile chance of your escape is drifting further and further away from you. You're not deceived by the innocence with which the man settles his chin on your stomach, nor by the way those beautiful sky-blue eyes stare up at you, because you feel the certainty with which he hides the escape route with the coverage of his strong body.

"And then what will happen to them?" Johnny asks, and the worry that enters his voice hits you unprepared, and the confusion instinctively takes over your features, as you take in the way the line of his troubled eyebrows meet. And from this tiny little move, his concern seems quite genuine, and it only pushes your mind even deeper into your ever-increasing shock. What the hell is he talking about?

"With whom?" The cautious question breaks out of you, because your brain, which is buzzing with stress, is unable to understand who he could be aiming at. But you don't have to wait long for him to clarify and dispel the doubts from your mind, because as his head finds a comfortable resting place on your belly, as he turns back to the table, smoothing his face against you, you immediately understand who you have forgotten about until now.

"With your friends." He answers easily, removing all the care from his tone, which he has smuggled into it so masterfully so far. There is something stomach-churningly intimate about the way he nuzzles your navel with his nose, and the way he almost burrows into the warmth of your body, which makes every cell of you instinctively scream for help. And as his arms close around you in a slow but deadly sure embrace, even though you don't fully see the horrible expression he's wearing because he's hiding in your clothes, your eyes find his reflection in one of the elegant glasses. And on the delicate surface of the glass, the corrupted, bloodthirsty smile that spreads across his lips is distorted almost like a nightmare.

"What are you talking about?" You hesitate, scared, and your voice comes out of your mouth like a pitiful whisper that it seems quite distant even to your ears. And you're unable to tear your gaze away from the glass, because you see the man's crooked smile widen further and become a twisted snarl on the glass, which suddenly brings back all the memories of when you were on the other side of that grin. With this exact expression, he plunged a knife into your beating heart and watched as the light of life faded from your eyes. And this makes you realize that, even though you waited for a soothing play, the time for bloodshed has long come.

"Dessert is comin' now." Simon joins in, and this simple little sentence sounds deceptively harmless from his mouth. But as he turns to your companions opposite him, who have been sitting in their seats in a happy stupor until now, you realize that you won't be the target now. However, this doesn't calm you down one bit. "Pam." He almost snaps at the girl, in a tone that sounds like he's asking a trained dog to show off the latest trick it's learned. And you're horrified to learn that the analogy couldn't be more accurate, because Pam shoots up with such enthusiastic joy, as if her owner had really dangled a reward in front of her nose.

"Oh, right away!" She gushes cheerfully, and for a split second, you can't understand why she reaches for the huge knife resting next to the cake so suddenly because of the fear sitting on your brain. You just watch, paralyzed, as she places her left hand on the table, and as the warm light glints on the cold metal of the blade, something quite uncomfortable grips your insides. And when the girl turns to you and her gaze sinks into yours, you see nothing but the bottomless emptiness shining in those bright eyes, as if all the life that the game had so graciously instilled in her had disappeared.

But even though she looks like a lifeless puppet, the sound of the knife piercing through bone is very real, as the next moment she cuts off her index finger with one simple and swift movement. The sick crack almost echoes in your ears, as if someone has just started slicing a deliciously fresh carrot, but as blood gushes out of the wound in rich drops and paints the snowy white of the tablecloth crimson, you know that your eyes are not fooled.

"What…. what the hell..." You stutter, and you feel your brain getting short-circuited by the sight. Because Pam just pulls out the knife buried in the wood of the table with unflinching glee, so as if nothing had happened, she raises it again and strikes the next finger with it. Moved by the force of the attack, the severed digit rolls away, plowing a trail of blood in its wake, drawing a grotesque painting among the multitude of bowls resting on the table. This awakes the pulsing nausea in you again, and you clasp your palm over your mouth to try to hold back the rest of your dinner, which starts gnawing up your throat. However, Pam doesn't even seem to perceive the outside world, the wide smile on her face stretches into a grotesque grin, and her teeth are pressed together with such force that you can almost hear them crack.

"Why dinnae ye sit down, hmm?" Johnny's voice breaks through your shock, and you startledly tear your eyes away from the horrible serenity on Pam's face to turn to the man again, because suddenly even this seems like a better idea. But as he glances up at you from under his dark eyelashes, and something quite predatory flashes in his eyes, you know that the dinner slowly soaking in blood would have been a more soothing sight. "If yer gonnae be the dessert, then she can stop..." He offers, and your stomach turns from the sugary kindness that sits in his words.

And when his arms holding you in check slowly let go of their hold, you'd think you finally can catch your breath for a moment, but much sooner the air gets stuck in your lungs, as his fingers grasp your thighs with almost painful force, and you can feel their marks soak into your skin like fresh purple bruises. His face is pressed against your lap, and his tongue sticks out of his mouth to draw a wet path along the small seam running in the middle of your pants, and you can feel the heat emanating from him even through the rough material of your jeans, then you would try to back away in alarm, but you don't get far. His grip locks you in place much more firmly, and the treacherous tingle that awakens in your frozen body pushes you towards dizziness when he finally finds that tiny sensitive bud through the fabric, which makes you tremble and grip his broad shoulders in terror. And a deep, almost animalistic growl erupts from Johnny's throat when he catches this instinctive little movement.

Another tears you out of the paralysis towards which you drift more and more surely, and as Pam, laughing joyfully, sweeps the stump of her ring finger away in the puddle of blood on the tablecloth, you're already glad that Johnny is so willing to let you cling to him. When you catch Simon out of the corner of your eye, you're unable to stop yourself and almost automatically direct your gaze to him. And you would swear that you have never seen a more beautiful man, because the lustful look with which his dark eyes fixate on you, while one hand caresses his stomach lazily, is not entirely of this world. You follow almost in a daze as his fingers dance leisurely along the bulging hardness of his pants, and only another snap brings you back to the present before you allow yourself to be lured into the trap they want to drag you into in such a vile way.

No matter the two men's angelic faces, no matter the sinful power emanating from them, it penetrates your paralyzed consciousness too strongly, as the sea of blood spreading across the table slowly reaches you and begins to drum in heavy drops on the floorboards. Because only monsters are capable of such horror, and it awakens the desire to escape in you enough that your heart rate, which is accelerating in dread, finally pumps out the adrenaline in your body so you can act.

You reach for your glass resting on the table so unexpectedly that you manage to surprise Johnny when you smash it on his head. And you know that it won't do him any serious damage, but the pain lasts just long enough for him to release you in the middle of a tortured hiss, and you can take advantage of this to get out of his arms so nimbly that by the time he comes to his senses, you're a safe distance away. No matter how much a faint sense of guilt awakens in you, when you turn your back on everything and sprint towards the stairs, for leaving your companions at the mercy of the beasts, the survival instinct raging inside you drives this weakness to the hidden corner of your skull much sooner. Because these bastards were trying to use this, and they wanted to take advantage of this to catch you...

Even through the pounding of your heart in your ears, you can hear the laughter that comes from Johnny when you reach the top floor, and you know exactly what that voice promises you. There's nothing in it but cruel amusement, and that just helps enough to speed up your steps towards your room. And as soon as the small abode finally envelopes you, you slam the door behind you with such force that its loud bang almost shakes the house. But for once, you don't care if you make noise, because the chase has already started, and there's no point in being subtle.

You lock the door with trembling hands, but you know that you won't be able to keep them out for long, because you've experienced Johnny's power enough times. That's why you rush to the closet resting next to the wall with lightning speed, and you push against it clenching your teeth, because it might delay them for a minute longer. The furniture sways with a creak, as it slowly obeys the violent urging, and as you shove it with your shoulder again and again with angry desperation, it finally gives in and falls in front of the door with an loud crash, spilling all its contents to the floor. And although a sharp ache shoots through your arm as you step back to examine your makeshift barricade, all pain fades when you hear heavy footsteps stomping up the stairs in the sudden silence. They're coming after you.

And you immediately search for a new way out, and as soon as your gaze settles on the open window, you already know what you have to do. Because even though you know that there are enough dangers out there, the uncertain darkness seems friendlier than waiting here to see what kind of retribution you'll receive for interrupting the two men's fun.

And when the doorknob turns for the first time, you're already outside on the narrow roof, and you only take one last look at the door, which is slowly beginning to shake wildly, before you disappear in the cold night.

And only one thought screams in your head: You have to survive the night.

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casiavium · 1 year ago

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Damage Control and Unbroken Spirit have been updated! If you've only been reading the T rated version, things are a lot different, and I had to cut out a part I really liked from DC because it didn't make sense with the other version of the story. So, spoilers, characters die in DC that don't in US, but this scene where Link mourns them was fun to write and I want to share it on its own

"Hylia above, and to the Golden Three," His voice did not waver as he recited a Skyloft lament, meant to aid the deceased with their passing. He wondered if anyone had already sung for him. "Guide this soul as they fly west towards your sunset, as they enter your realm..."

He had been to a handful of funerals in his life time. He was too young to remember his parents, just barely able to understand when he went to Zelda's mother's. Pipit's father had been a shock, recent enough that it was still taking its toll on their family but far enough in the past that it didn't cloud every day's thoughts. They had been just entering the academy then, and to watch the upperclassman change after the death of his father had been strange. Pipit seemed to work himself to death trying to make a ghost proud, and his mother had never really recovered.

Had they put on funerals for Zelda? Had they honored him as a knight? Did the people of Skyloft grant him rites he didn't deserve, did Zelda's father tell them what he was meant to be? Were they still holding out, waiting for hope one of them would return?

"Let them—let them go in peace, for all they've done for you, and—" Even as no tears came to his eyes, Link choked. He had never recited the prayers without a chorus of his friends and family. He had never spoken these words without the proper rituals, sending off the dead surrounded by friends. He had killed her, he didn't deserve to be standing here, speaking directly to gods that he had blatantly forsaken.

He had never even said these prayers for Zelda.

"Please, if you can hear me at all, if you ever chose me as your hero as they all say you did... let me save them from the suffering that's to come. I know I've knelt for a different god, a demon I should have—I should have defeated, but, goddesses, please... if not for me, for them."

Dropping the blade from his hand, Link sank back to his knees and clasped his hands together, pressing his fists to his forehead as his heart ached. There should have been celebrations. There should have been a stone, a send off, they should have let their loftwings fly away into the clouds and become one with the sky, protecting Skyloft as their riders had in life. Had they given him the knights' funeral? Had they laid an effigy at the goddess statue when they had no body, no sword to bury?

He mourned for the life he never got to live, if not for himself, for Zelda. For her father. For Fledge and Pipit and Karane, his friends, for the remlits he teased and the kikiwis he unwittingly terrorized, the spirit of the Goddess Sword and all those he never had a chance to say goodbye to. If Hylia had chosen him as her hero, then surely she had never meant for them to live.

He didn't even have the comfort of tears on his skin as he pulled himself away from his prayers, back to the looming body of a great spirit he had taken down by his own hand. The water that had once flown within her scales was rising in a spiraling pattern toward the sky, fading dots of light intermixed with the stream as the spirit of the forest was swept way like autumn leaves. Of all the times to be given a sign the gods had answered his prayer, why now.

"Ashes to ashes." Link murmured, though there was nothing burning about the dragon. He wasn't praying for her. "Dust to dust. May we all return as the wind in the air and the clouds in the sky."

He watched as the last light of the spirit twinkled out, far above the water she had once ruled. Alone now with not even a body to accompany him, Link knelt in the great hall of a god, having struck her down with his own hands. If Demise had doubted his loyalty before, he was going to be pleasantly surprised.

#cherrywrites #skyward sword

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theboysfromaustin · 25 days ago

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In honor of every Thanksgiving I spent there, I present a repost of my grandma's creepy house.

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My paternal grandparents' house was built in the late 1800s, and I believe they acquired it in the 1960s or 70s. Spent a good deal of time at that house, much as I could, my dad dragging us from Michigan to Indiana (ew) to Texass to Tennessee and back to the garbage state for computer work. Lot of summers, lots of Thanksgivings, maybe a couple Christmases. Large chunk of my family, paternal and maternal lives (or lived) around southwestern Michigan.

That house had an air of fucked-upedness.

It was a two story house, kind of Victorian, I guess? Lot of gingerbread trim. Very pretty. It had a basement as well, I don't remember an attic - I never went into one, the basement was bad enough.

The basement was very large, and had a set of stairs (which I have fallen down), and had two distinct sections - the vaguely scary one with the washer and dryer along with The Closet, which is where my father told me a monster named Oscar lived. He now denies this. Classy.

The other half of the basement was, when my grandfather was alive (he died in 98 or 99) both awesome and ball-retractingly terrifying. He had a big, badass electric train setup. I am a man who can appreciate a fine train landscape and this thing was the tits.

The bad part was, this section was well-lit. The rest of this godforsaken hole in the ground was pitch goddamn black, and just full of…stuff, looming menacingly in the shadows. I did not go beyond the light down there, because I was terrified. I was last in this house for Thanksgiving 2014, and I was sent to the basement to look for a pitcher. No pitchers, but at least 5 coffee makers. I looked through the door into the doom pit, felt my stomach clench in terror, and fled.

Nobody liked that fuckin' basement. Redfin photos from when my aunt moved my grandma out due to that fucker Alzheimer's don't even go in the dark half.

Don't blame them, I don't think realtors get paid enough to potentially be dragged to hell.

First floor was fairly normal, except my mom once saw the ghost of an old lady in the kitchen. Also to note, the door frames in this place were low as shit. I'm 5 foot 7, and by the time puberty punched me repeatedly in the pituitary gland, I was constantly getting bonk bonk on the head and learned to start ducking. There was also an office that, after my mom started using oxygen 24/7, had a bed set up in it for our visits.

Also, one time a squirrel got in the house and terrorized my grandmother over the course of a few days. It was one of those lil' fuckers introduced by John Harvey Kellogg. You know, that cereal fucker.

Upstairs was a bitch and a half to get to. I think my grandfather, my delinquent dad and his delinquent brothers installed the Death Stairs. Did a shit job. They were steep, they were narrow, and they were covered in the slipperiest carpet the 60s or 70s could barf up. Everyone hated these stairs. I've always been stomping around in natural clown shoes, so these were A Special Challenge. I think most people in the family fell victim to the stairs at some point or another, but I managed to fall from the first step down, Zetsu Tenrou Battouga'd my ass all the way to the hardwood floor below where I slammed onto my back.

Had a goddamn Rorschach test black and blue mark on my whole damn back after that.

Maybe that explains why my spine hurts so bad now at 34. (I AM 36 NOW AND IT STILL HURTS.)

Huh.

Upstairs, there were 3 bedrooms and a bathroom with a shower. The one bedroom was my grandparents', the other two were the guest rooms. My sister generally stayed in the middle room after my parents started using the downstairs one, don't know how they both fit, that bed sucked. It was narrow, the mattress was hard, and would tilt dangerously if you didn't stay dead center.

This room was adorned with photos of dead relatives, like really old photos where nobody is smiling and their eyes are emotionless because Emoting Was A Sin. I don't know how my sister stayed in there with the scary photos because she's a total wiener about horror movies who had to come sleep in the bed with me after my mom took her to see Blair Witch. And The Ring.

I always got stuck in the room next to the bathroom.

That room was….awful.

First of all.

From the time I could be in a Big Boy Bed without falling out and dying from cracking my soft, egglike head on the hardwood floor, there was a fucking baby crib in front of the wardrobe, which at least kept it closed and the Narnia shit at bay. Now, for whatever reason, probably my Chihuahua-level anxiety, this baby crib scared the everloving piss out of me.

But Ian, it's just a crib, how is that scary? I don't know, my brain is a mess, but the FEAR of waking up in the night and hearing Baby Noises™ was sufficiently terrifying as was the prospect of getting up to use the bathroom and there being some….thing….in the crib. You know, like in Eraserhead.

But that wasn't the worst part, somehow. Oh no.

The bed was in a corner. Now, for some reason I can only describe as "total bullshit" there was a closet on the wall, you know, with a door as well as another, tiny closet a few feet up the wall, about half the height of the normal closet. The bed blocked it, but the top of the door frame ended maybe 6 inches above the mattress.

This had no solid door.

This had a curtain that was supposed to protect me from whatever nightmares lurked within. This was horrifying, because it was at such a perfect height for me to fling a limb into The Unknown. Which was absolutely god damned TERRIFYING. I don't even know what was stored in there. Ain't no way I was looking, either. I tried sleeping on the other side of the bed, away from the danger hole, but I am not what anyone would call a "serene sleeper." One vacation, I had to share a hotel bed with my sister, and at one point, according to her, I "sat up, violently elbowed her in the gut, and rolled over."

This does sound like me, so I believe it.

So, inevitably I would trundle across the bed and back to the object of danger. Can't sleep on the floor to mitigate this problem because there was ALSO a motherfucking trap door, which was partially covered by the rug. I don't know what was down there. Probably spiders. Maybe whatever cryptid was lurking Michigan. Maybe the Dogman was hitching around Berrien county, I don't know.

Fuck that room.

I kind of would have liked to have owned that house so I could uncover the cast amounts of crazy bullshit that lurked within its walls, but I am not a rich man, and it honestly needed a lot of repair work done.

Also the stairs would have eventually claimed my life, this I know.

Also, there was a large garage in the back with an attic filled with things. All I remember being in there was a vintage ride-on Dalmatian toy that had a terrible face (and I’ll post a photo from eBay) and, given the rest of the shit about that house, probably rolled around there on its own.

Christ.

1 note · View note

wh6res · 4 years ago

Text

three's a crowd | nomin

synopsis. picking favorites is impossible when you like neither of them.

warning. read at your own risk. abuse, bullying, poly relationship, yandere themes, manipulation, nonconsensual touching, noncon, degradation, smut threesome oop

disclaimer. i do not condone whatever tf i wrote in this nor does it reflect my beliefs or values or morals and such. it is all pure fiction and i also dont think jaemin or jeno would act like this in real life.

note. this was meant to be a new year's gift lmao i obviously got a lil carried away 👀 anyway a late happy new year to you all! we survived 2020, let's start living in 2021, yeah? lmao if covid lets us grr mwah!

the relationship you had with the two of them was a weird one, bordering on taboo, but it wasn't as if you willfully chose to be who they wanted you to be and it took jaemin's unwanted pining and jeno's intimidating demeanor for you to fall right into their arms.

it was a joint effort on their part, you couldn't've possibly stood a chance.

"this many?" the cashier asked. "are you sure?"

stepping back and studying the whole situation, you figured you only had your addiction to caffeine and procrastination to blame. it was a chain reaction you didn't even know will lead up to your inevitable doom.

if you hadn't been slacking off during your first semester of junior year college, you wouldn't be forced to overwork yourself trying to catch up to the looming deadlines, but to be able to 'work yourself to the bone' you need your boost of energy… and that was when you met one of them.

"uhm," you scratch the back of your head sheepishly as you eye the six glass bottles of iced coffee. sure, it looks bad and you kinda appreciate the look of concern the cashier throws your way but it was none of his business.

"yes. now could you, like, you know… hurry up? i'm in a little bit of a time crunch right now."

screw it. although you hardly snap like that with other people on a daily basis, it'll be a whole different conversation if you were under a significant amount of stress and today, unfortunately, is one of those days.

now can he just fucking stop asking questions and give you your six bottles of death drink to keep your fucking brain going so you can pass an eight-page essay tomorrow? thank you very much!

the guy snickered, the beeping sound of a barcode being read sounding a thousand times more annoying than it usually sounds as he keeps his hand busy by punching your items out.

you fail to notice how he studies you through the gaps of his lashes, finding you interesting rather than threatening as you stood before him with your messy hair and oversized hoodie.

"haven't seen you around university grounds 'till today," he tries striking another conversation with you. "you new? i'm jaemin."

this was your first mistake, you shouldn't have been so… downright rude when you met him. if you were granted the miracle of meeting him a 2nd time, you would've acted more nice, throwing yourself at his feet even to blend in with the rest of his fangirls you didn't even know about at the time. you would've done anything to make sure he never gives you a second glance, to never pique his interest.

jaemin is the pep squad captain. flying over colored blue mats and doing tumblings in the air with no ounce of fear. he was the best in his team, that much was evident when your friend dragged you into watching a pep rally practice. his landings were clean, balanced, and executed to the best he can at all times.

no wonder he was popular, his talent is outstanding and his looks are a bonus. his killer combo of a smile and wink after pulling off a tough flip is enough to send them squealing in their seats.

he spotted you that day and since then, he snuck the quickest glances at the bench during practices. recognizing you as the coffee girl he met during his convenience store shift. jaemin tries not to let his disappointment show too much when he doesn't see you, but of course, a pair of cold calculating eyes could see right through him.

"i saw that," his boyfriend said, hand darting forward to hold jaemin's gym bag for him. "you kept looking at the crowd. do you want to see her that much?"

"but she reminds me so much of you, jeno!" he retorts, pouting at the slight grumpy tone the other boy used. "i can't help it. she doesn't seem to give a fuck around me so she's quite interesting. maybe she can even be a great addition to our relationship!"

"well," jeno replies after a beat of silence, plastering a small smirk on his face before slinging an arm around jaemin's shoulder.

"convince me?"

you don't like jaemin's attention. not in the slightest. and it seems that was enough reason for the reign of terror his little fanclub has subjected you too.

it wasn't the petty elementary forms of bullying like pulling at your hair or calling you names. they pale in comparison to the other things they do to you—beating you up, messing with your homework, "accidentally" dumping their food trays on you.

and you weren't stupid.

you knew exactly who was behind it, knew how jaemin spectates the whole thing from afar so that he can swoop in at the end to play your knight in shining armor.

"oh, you poor thing. do you need help?"

the first time you accepted his "help" you ended up in a supply closet near the gym during your free period, cornered and weak as your cries for help drowns under the squeaking of shoes and the booming sounds of rubber balls hitting the floor.

if it weren't for jeno appearing out of thin air and prying the boy off of you, you would've been painted blue and red from the death grip he had on your wrist, neck, and waist.

you can still remember feeling the soreness of your scalp from when he pulled your hair too hard. remembered feeling his teeth gnawing at your lips as if he wanted to tear them off.

that time hadn't been the first time you saw jeno. you've shared a few classes with him and it strikes you how polar opposites they are with one another.

while jaemin likes to bask in his professor and classmates' recognition by confidently reciting his answers, jeno would rather keep to himself. liked sitting at the last row, near the window, so he'd be the first to go once the professor ends their lecture. while jaemin loved the attention of his fangirls, jeno preferred solitude. while jaemin is impulsive and wild, jeno liked to think things through.

it was within these reasons that you decided to do what you did. but your judgement of character has never been more wrong.

you approached jeno one day in the library, tried to make yourself appear as stoic and confident as possible. but your constant slouching and averting eyes was a dead giveaway.

you came to talk to him about what jaemin has been doing, hoping there's one person left in this entire school that isn't under the cheer captain's trance. the one reasonable person that has already saved you once and (hopefully) is willing enough to save you again. the only one that probably has a certain level of control over jaemin, if the supply closet incident is anything to go by.

but you've overestimated lee jeno.

"you should've just given jaemin what he wanted."

"but—but aren't you two lovers? isn't it bothering you?"

you try baiting him, only for an uncomfortable shiver to start crawling down your spine when he chuckled humorlessly, pushing his school materials to the side while pinning you with an unreadable stare.

how can a person make someone feel so small just by a gaze alone? it was nothing like you've felt with jaemin. this is way worse.

"the only thing that's bothering me is why you're not ours yet."

you feel cold fingers creeping their way under your shirt, going higher and higher until it brushes against your bra. and when your eyes meet, the look on his face was unmistakable—what are you going to do about it, huh?

you stood up in lightning speed, the chair you've been sitting on scraping loudly against the floor.

you've never ran out as fast as you did.

and jeno swears it'll be the last.

you tried everything in your power to ignore them for the next following weeks but it soon became useless when the two boys took it upon themselves to give you your space.

although judging by the pinpricks you feel on your back, and the constant weight of a stare you feel on your shoulders, you knew they weren't done with you yet. far from it. and for some reason, you just knew they wanted to lull you into a false sense of security first before striking again.

and while they continued to ogle at you from afar like a hawk circling its prey in a desert, you took it upon yourself to return the favor. not because you were the slightest bit interested in those creeps but maybe, just maybe, if you look hard enough you'll find a way out, a weakness.

but what you realized made your insides churn in great discomfort—although it may seem that jeno holds the reins in the relationship since his reserved nature fits the role, it's actually the other way around.

jaemin might appear too self-centered, too focused on himself to give a fuck about his surroundings but in actuality, he has quite a knack for reading people. even more so than jeno. and it was scary how he used it to his advantage, and paired up with his devoted fangirls? it was hell on earth.

you found it alarming how the two seem to magically appear wherever you are.

although you weren't in the least bit surprised. for some reason, you can't take your eyes away when jaemin's devotees flock around him (and jeno) in a circle.

it almost reminds you of a shoal of piranhas, waiting for their meal to drop into the water before ripping it to shreds with their teeth. only their "meal" isn't actual flesh but the carefully crafted words jaemin says that drive them into a sick frenzy.

one that has them doing everything in their power to satisfy him like the loyal dogs they are.

so this was how he got them to bully you?

"oh, that? don't worry! yangyang just ran into me during cheer rehearsal. no biggie. my cheek stung a little bit, though…" is what he said but really he's telling them "scruff him up a bit for me, why don't ya?"

"of course, i can't be the best all the time. haechan is just too good, maybe even better than me…" is what he said but really he's telling them "can you remind him where his place should be?"

all the while jeno did nothing to hold him back.

no matter how wrong jaemin is, how much of an asshole he is, jeno will stick by his side through and through. so as much as jaemin is a puppeteer that gets a kick for controlling people, jeno is as much at fault for looking the other way.

because in jeno's perspective, why the fuck would he do shit when he can just get off from the entertainment that comes with jaemin's sweet little mind games?

we lost :(

you had been busy sorting through paperwork for one of your professors in the faculty when your friend texted you the results of the intercollegiate cheer dance competition. a frown paints your face, heart feeling heavy at the bad news.

in all honesty, you still supported the pep squad—you just hated the captain and his boyfriend. they've been practicing non-stop for this and prior to the weeks of the competition, jeno looked a lot more tense and jaemin less smiley than usual. you swore you even saw the latter snap at one of his fangirls.

not to mention, they paid less attention to you, too, and it was the best three weeks of your life.

tension starts rising in your shoulders, fingers absentmindedly running through the edge of the papers you had been sorting until you became immersed with your thoughts.

jaemin must be in the worst mood yet.

and jeno too, probably. if anything, that guy gets triggered the most when something bad happens to jaemin or when he catches snippets of people talking shit about his oh so "perfect" boyfriend.

jeno is a lot scarier when jaemin is in one of his mood swings, you noticed. he steps up in the relationship to offer comfort to the other boy and for outsiders? it isn't a great experience to go through—being on the receiving end of jeno's ice cold stare is a position you don't want to find yourself in after that time in the library.

he is still as much a threat to your peaceful life like his lover.

you snap out of it when the blinding headlights of a vehicle seep through the closed blinds. you hear the gentle hum of an engine switching off as the headlights vanished as quick as they had appeared. that must be the cheer squad's bus.

as you look around the empty faculty room, something in your gut tells you to ditch file sorting duty for professor kim tonight and fucking get the hell out of campus grounds as quick as you can.

after haphazardly throwing the unsorted papers back into the cabinet, you groan aloud when the keys to the office drop out of your skirt’s pocket.

the indoor gym where the cheering squad practices is right across the hallway. you sure as hell don't want to bump into jaemin. or jeno, too, if he had decided to ride along the cheer squad's bus on the way home.

you kept looking for the keys underneath the cubicles, cursing aloud when you heard the telltale squeaks of shoes rubbing against linoleum. you almost hit your head against a table when you quickly got back up your feet, darting forward to shut the lights for the faculty room.

they can't know you're here. alone. and if it meant sitting in the dark for a few hours 'till they leave, meant going back home a little later than usual is what you have to do then so be it.

you try not to react so violently when the door you're leaning on jolts when someone from outside slams their back against it.

"it's not like we didn't do our best, right guys? i don't have regrets. it might sound fucking cheesy and although i'm sad myself, atleast we did what we can."

it's jaemin. his voice clear as day.

you try peaking, craning your neck up from your place on the floor. only to see the back of his head leaning against the glass section of the door. someone else joins in on the conversation, followed by coach park himself, and you slowly tune out whatever they're saying as you stealthily start scanning the faculty room.

you curse under your breath. is there no other exit other than this door? jesus christ! even classrooms in this university had two doors—

"what are you doing here?"

the switch flickers on, basking the once dark room with light. only when you hear an echo of your name being called, did you snap out of it and quickly picked yourself up from the floor.

"i said, what are you doing here?"

their coach asks, drilling the question as he looks at you skeptically with his arms crossed. you try not to look at the people behind him.

particularly, not at his cheer captain standing on his right.

particularly, not at jeno, who stands out like a sore thumb with his blue hair, a protective arm snaked around jaemin’s shoulders.

this isn't your lucky day, too, you guess.

"i was…" you cursed yourself for stuttering. "i was, uhm, i was file sorting for prof—professor kim, sir."

coach park looked like he didn't believe you as he narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. your nerves are going haywire and you can feel the sharp pins of their stare with how close they are.

you kept juggling your weight with the balls of your feet, hands fisting and unfisting behind your back. you want to leave. you have to leave.

"file sorting… in the dark?" he asked incredulously.

fuck this.

"uhm, you can ask professor kim himself tomorrow, coach. for now, uh, i'll be going now. i'm sorry you guys lost…"

originally, the exit is on the right side, at the end of the hallway. but no, you are not going to pass by those two while on your way out so you ducked behind a random student standing on the coach's left instead and practically ran away from the scene.

everyone had been too busy. too busy looking at your retreating form to even notice jaemin and jeno exchanging glances, too busy to notice the latter untangling himself from their captain to slip away unnoticed, his hurried steps filled with a burning purpose.

you didn't know why you ran, but you did. your shoes practically booming against the floor as you sped away through darkened hallways. you're sweating profusely, heart hammering in your chest. you can worry about professor kim tomorrow but right now you just had to—

"why are you in such a rush, pet?"

crashing into jeno felt like crashing into a wall. if it hadn't been for his arm quickly wrapping around your waist, then you would've landed on your butt before him.

with the small distance between the two of you, jeno could see as clear as day through your eyes.

jaemin was right.

it was addicting to stare into them.

especially when he can see every single one of your thoughts flying through your pretty little head. but hey, it wasn't their fault you were so easy to read.

jeno barely conceals the wicked smirk on his lips when your hands come up to his chest, trying to push him away but to no avail.

he can see your eyes shifting from shock, to confusion, until it finally settles on fear—to which it's slowly becoming a favorite emotion of his to see on your face.

"you know, jaemin is in a really shitty mood right now. and we were wondering, maybe you can cheer us up?"

no. this can't be happening.

"jeno, please." your dilated eyes and disheveled hair made his blood run south. "let me go. you don't want me. you don't need a third party in your relationship."

you yelp when he lets you go, literally shoving you against a wall—which you found out is actually a door, as it swings open as soon as your body crashes against it.

with jeno looming unforgivingly before you in his full height, the tears stung extra hard but you won't let them fall.

if he wanted to bask in the image of your weakness then it'll be something you'll deprive from him for as long as you can.

"i don't need a stupid bitch like you to tell me what i feel." he scoffs. "don't fucking kid yourself, you little whore—i don't want you. i'm not jaemin."

the echo of the classroom door shutting closed surged through you like a wake up call.

this is really happening.

you've always led a decent life, had done nothing too questionable and you've always thought maybe life will spare you if you lived quietly enough. but the feel of jeno's freezing hands crawling against your skin felt like life itself had spat at you in the eye and left you to rot in a ditch.

"i've always liked how you wore skirts," he comments. playing with the ruffled hem of the soft fabric as he purposely grazed his knuckles against your supple thighs. "gives me easy access, don't you agree?"

you scream when he flips your skirt up to reveal the innocent pink of your cotton panties. it was as if a switch had flipped inside of you and the will to fight started coursing through your veins.

"stop! jeno! i don't want this!"

his brows furrow, grunting as he struggles to push the waistline of your skirt up higher with how much you're thrashing underneath him. you buck your hips, tried curling in on yourself, anything to prolong what he wants to do to you.

with your legs trapped underneath his, you blindly reach forward, relying on your upper body instead to push and scratch whatever your palms and nails reached.

you continue screaming like a banshee until he shoved two fingers into your wet cavern.

"stop fighting me," he sounded strained, as if he's holding himself back. you feel him fisting the fabric of your skirt and you fear he's simply going to rip it apart.

you tried responding to him, only the sound had been muffled, gurgled by the flat of his fingers pushing down against your tongue mercilessly. when you reach forward to push him away, your hands land on the apple of his cheeks, nails digging through skin.

until it slips and—

you lie rigid when red scratch marks in the size of your fingernails slowly appear on jeno's skin, his head turned to the side as he paused. your actions slowly start sinking in to him as he shuts his eyes and bit his lip 'till it looked like it was about to bleed.

oh no.

"jeno—"

the slap he planted on your cheek left your ears ringing. all those hard earned muscles of his put to good use—if the tears hadn't fallen for the last few minutes, then it definitely started falling now.

the hit had been so strong, a few of your hair flew astray, the buzzing feeling of your skin tempting you to reach a hand up to soothe your abused cheek.

until jeno let out a low growl and your hand immediately drops limp against your body, afraid of whatever else he can do to you other than a slap.

"that's more like it," he whispers under his breath. you let out the tiniest of whimpers when his hand darts forward to fist your hair. "do you know what happens to bad girls? they fucking get busted up. do you understand me?"

his patience is nonexistent.

jeno slams your head against the floor when you don't answer because you thought his question had been rhetorical. it felt like your skull had been split in two as you wail in pain.

"are you fucking deaf—i asked you a fucking question!"

the hand that cups your jaw is painful as he squeezed your cheek with his blunt nails. your hand shoots up to wrap around his wrist, silently pleading for him to let up as you sobbed out loud. you started nodding as best as you can despite his firm grip on your face.

your reply was nothing short of pathetic. with lips forcefully pursed and the steady stream of your tears and snot rolling down your face, your response is gargled and hardly incoherent and jeno seemed to thoroughly enjoy your anguish if the condescending curl on his lips is anything to go by.

"look at you," he whispers, his face coming close to yours as he holds you down. there was something in the way jeno stared so intently that it made your skin crawl.

"i think you're prettiest when ruined like this."

with his nose touching yours, he felt too close, bordering on intimate as you felt his hand creep back up your thighs, trailing up with feather-like touches that made goosebumps appear on your skin.

you tried wiggling your legs underneath him but one sharp look from jeno is enough to make you stop.

the hand holding your face moves. coming down from gripping your face to encircling his hand around your neck.

"do you like it when i touch you? freaky bitch."

his hands trail further up, up, up until you felt him slotting a finger underneath your panties.

jeno didn't like how frozen you were underneath him as he pulls at the hem before letting go. the elastic snapping back against your skin.

the action evokes a strong feeling through the young male, promising to have you writhing and screaming and begging because by the end of all this, you'll be so needy and frustrated that you will have no choice but to give in to what your body wanted.

"jeno, didn't i tell you to play nice?"

someone stands by the door, the minimal light from the hallway creating a silhouette with his form but you knew who he was. that deep voice, with the same annoying flippant tone, is a dead giveaway.

you didn't know why you even hoped in the beginning. as if there'll be someone who can save you from these two.

you thought the flash of hurt in your eyes was quick to disappear but jeno noticed it quicker.

in a span of seconds, he pulled you up from your position from the ground and tugged you towards his lap. you haven't even gotten the time to settle on your new position when he already smashed his lips against yours.

it was messy. too much saliva. too much teeth. no tenderness to it at all.

the fabric of his jeans felt rough, not to mention the ice cold belt buckle made you severely uncomfortable as it seeps through the thin fabric of your skirt.

when you attempt to hover over his lap, jeno grunts as he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back down without your lips breaking away from each other. you didn't know why he let out a whine, but you understood the moment you fully sat down on his lap and you felt a tent on his jeans hitting your clothed entrance perfectly.

in a normal circumstance, you would've found everything hot and might've actually gotten off from it but not when it's him who’s doing this to you and you didn’t consent to any of this.

you start squirming again. palms lying flat against jeno's chest as you attempt to push him away and jaemin sees this as the opportune moment to slot himself behind you, caging you in between them.

“i want my turn,” he hisses and without an ounce of hesitation, jeno stops to do what he's told.

jaemin doesn't waste any second to grab your face, awkwardly craning your neck up to meet his lips in the same feverish kiss.

while jeno had been all teeth and aggression, practically forcing you to open your mouth and kiss him back, jaemin on the other hand is more soft, more romantic, you daresay. he seemed to like taking his sweet time by clutching your face, kissing you like he actually meant it.

he pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against yours as he murmurs something incoherent under his breath and then he's kissing you again.

you think you heard something along the lines of, "finally."

you've been too distracted by jaemin to notice jeno's nimble fingers quickly fumbling with the buttons of your blouse. it was only when you feel the sensation of his tongue laving against the swell of your breast did you turn away from jaemin, jerking backward in surprise.

"no—!"

your scream is cut off by a hand cupping your mouth. jaemin pulls your back towards his chest, molding your body against his as jeno licked and suckled all he wanted, thankful to have the other boy there to not worry about restraining you and keeping you quiet while he has his fun.

"ah, ah, ah," jaemin teases, going hard over the pleading and teary look you sent his way. it looked pathetic, he wasn't going to lie, but it doesn't mean he didn't love it. "just keep still and appreciate jeno's efforts to take care of you, alright baby?"

you don't like how he talked as if this was all a mutual thing, how he talked slowly like you were some toddler who didn't understand anything.

it's cruel how jaemin giggled and basked in your vulnerable state as he kept his eyes pinned on you while undoing the zipper of your skirt. your muffled cries of his name only serving to egg him on.

the way he stared was similar to jeno, too intently and intrusive, like he wants to burn your image of despair in the back of his head.

you whined involuntarily when jeno got bored of all the licking and thus decided to start biting and nipping at your chest instead. he was hypnotised by how responsive you were, how every little bite and nibble made you shudder.

it was a shame that jaemin had to cover your mouth. he didn't get to hear your pretty mewls but it wasn't as if he'd let the night end without hearing them loud and clear.

jaemin is fast in undressing you, feeling slightly betrayed by how quick your skirt and blouse fell under his hands.

you know what he wants, what he's going to do, and the tears fall harder when you can't dodge away from him. forced to endure and accept whatever they give you.

"you act like you don't like it but look how fucking wet you are," you bit your lip hard when jaemin starts circling the pads of his fingers against your clit, fascinated by how more juices streamed down your thighs.

"jeno, do you see this? fuck."

you can only blink in defeat, staring off to the side as you force down any noise bubbling up your throat, forcing yourself to think of anything else other than what's happening right now.

you try not to think about how they managed to tear all of your clothes off while they're left completely dressed. tried not to think about the fingers lazily drawing up and down your slit to collect your essence.

if they're doing this as a way to further humiliate you, it's working.

"slut," jeno mocked, a wicked curl on his lips when he wraps his fingers around your throat. the moment he dives down to claim your lips again is the same time jaemin pushes two fingers inside you.

"look at how wet you are because of me," jaemin whispers hot against your ear and you feel a sick churn in your stomach when you feel his smile against your skin.

he purposely drives his fingers in and out quicker, settjng a brutal pace, wanting you to hear the lewd squelching sounds. "hear that? do you hear that, darling? that's because of me—"

"don't go talking big now, jaem," jeno retorts, pulling away from your lips to start nibbling on the back of your ear. "i was here first. did you see how she fucking reacted when i sucked on her tits?"

you're quick to catch how jeno particularly loved degrading you. but how he talks about you as if you're literally not in front of him naked made you hit a new all-time low.

you felt… filthy.

his hands find purchase on your butt—only because jaemin has already claimed the front. for now.

you close your eyes tight when he painfully squeezes the flesh of your ass. you swear, his blunt nails will paint your skin black and blue.

"i'm the favorite!"

as someone who's part of a varsity team, you already knew a competitive nature runs through jaemin's veins. but never had you thought jeno would share the same sentiment. once again they prove that they're cut from the same cloth.

all of a sudden it wasn't all about claiming you as theirs anymore rather it was all about who can make you moan the loudest, who can make you cum the most, who can make you feel the dirtiest you can be.

you're absolutely terrified for the hours to come.

thankfully, they have yet to ask for your verbal opinion or validation. they let your body do all the talking—every repressed shudder and sharp gasp is enough.

but it's game over once they pop the million dollar question.

"who do you like best?"

you don't want to find out the consequences if you actually answered their question because you didn't know what could be worse.

jaemin's manipulation or jeno's aggression?

but it was all normal. trial and error is inevitable in order to build and mold you into the ideal lover for the both of them.

because adding someone new to the mix has never been easy—after all, three's a crowd.

#nct imagines #yandere nct #yandere kpop #nct smut #nct scenarios #yandere jaemin #yandere jeno #jaemin imagines #jeno imagines #jaemin scenarios #jeno scenarios #jaemin smut #jeno smut

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remythologise · 3 years ago

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kira!! pls share what you're watching atm + if you know what you'll watch next 👀

delightful request anon!!!! I am currently watching:

TWIN PEAKS: THE RETURN, OR, WHAT IF WE INVESTIGATED WHY THE VIBES WERE OFF AGAIN LIKE 25 YEARS LATER — watching this VERY slowly because it really does try my patience of needing everything to happen at a good pace and for a storytelling purpose. I skipped through the bad parts of Twin Peaks s2 because I was like I only live so long and well so far The Return certainly is... more of the same. I definitely think it's a fun reference point for the X-Files (and subsequently Supernatural) etc. in terms of influence but it is still frustrating to me, as a show-watching experience.

THE TERROR, OR, WHAT IF WE MADE A TV SHOW ABOUT THE ARCTIC EXPEDITIONS THAT GOT LOST AND NEVER RETURNED AGAIN AND FOR SOME REASON PEOPLE WENT YEAH I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH TERROR AND MISERY IN MY LIFE I'LL WATCH THAT — I am watching this with friends and I'm sure it's very gay or whatever and probably the best piece of horror media made but honestly the threat of mass death due to inaction despite looming doom is too real for me at this present time. Also I kind of think the slightly problematically Noble-Savage-linked supernatural being attacking them is totally unnecessary as a device like girl they're facing enough death and danger due to their own stupidity. Watch in a well-lit room and then watch a poppy kdrama immediately after. Also do NOT google image search 'the terror' there's real mummified corpses out there :/ GUARDIAN: THE LONELY AND GREAT GOD ("GOBLIN"), OR, WHAT IF THIS ONE LEGENDARY WARRIOR WASN'T ALLOWED TO DIE UNTIL HE MET HIS 'BRIDE' AND ALSO A GRIM REAPER WAS HIS ROOMMATE — I think I tagged my thoughts on this somewhere but here they are again: the lead girl in this is WAY too young for my liking and it's throwing me off the whole show. Which is a real shame because the leading men are sensational, as is their chemistry. The female lead is ostensibly 19 but she's still in high school and spiritually FEELS like 16 or younger in terms of how she acts and the male lead is literally called out as looking like he's mid-30s by her (and he's immortal!) so like... it's not even an Edward Cullen situation where he LOOKS younger or is more immature. I'm very bitter that this show isn't about the enemies-to-and-they-were-roommates no-memories-vs-too-many-memories romance between the grim reaper and the goblin because that relationship is so much more engaging and I'm not just saying that because I love to see gay subtext (which there is also a lot of.) I'll stick with it because I very rarely skip through or give up on shows (despite skipping through twin peaks, a rare exception), but we'll see. Still early days, I'm only on episode three! THE DEVIL JUDGE, OR, WHAT IF WE WERE IN A DYSTOPIA NOT UNLIKE OUR OWN REALITY AND YOU WERE THE STAR OF A REALITY JUDGING SHOW TO PERSECUTE CRIMINALS AND RESTORE FAITH IN THE JUSTICE SYTEM AND I WAS YOUR FOR-LOOKS-ONLY ASSISTING JUDGE SECRETLY INVESTIGATING YOU HAHA UNLESS...? — well! I've only just started this show and I'm on episode three but I AM HAVING A FUN TIME. Absolutely suffers from what seems like a very common kdrama three episode rule where the first episode was confusing but then REALLY picked up and now I'm hooked. I mean I literally just watched the heroine-coded hero save the evil-seeming byronic hero from a bomb and then wake up in his bed in his gothic mansion with creepy servant and girl in a wheelchair while he's basically trapped there and the titular Devil Judge undresses him and tends to his wounds and so on. 10/10 gay catholic symbolism gothic horror romance law crime class war dystopia it's a double thumbs up from me so far. SEMANTIC ERROR, OR, TALENTED GRAPHIC DESIGNER FUCKS WITH EXTREMELY SERIOUS ROBOT-LIKE PROGRAMMER, PROGRAMMER GETS REVENGE, THEY FALL IN LOVE WHILE WORKING ON A STUDENT PROJECT TOGETHER— mainstream kdrama may not have (canon) lead gay romance but that doesn't stop webseries from doing so! this one is very cute although it definitely doesn't have the plot or production quality of a mainstream tv show it's still very watchable and pretty. A fun lunchtime watch with a shorter run-time even if the type of 'group project' work hits wayyyy too close to home for me.

THE UNTAMED, OR, I HAVEN'T WATCHED ENOUGH OF THIS SHOW TO SUMMARISE IT BUT I KNOW IT'S GAY, I KNOW IT — I have only seen 4 episodes of this show and I KNOW it's going to hit and everyone adores it but I haven't been able to get into it. I know the beginning is universally confusing but I also feel like I'm saving it for a bit and then I'll try to watch it again. Having said that I did watch ten minutes on the train just today until it got to Wei Wu Xian looking at Lan Wang Ji (Lan Zhan? WHY DOES EVERYONE HAVE LIKE THREE DIFFERENT NAMES) naked in a stream and I was like well that's not fit for public transport.

and I have just watched: MOON KNIGHT, OR WHAT IF EVEN OSCAR ISAAC CAN'T SAVE MARVEL FROM MEDIOCRITY — Honestly the less said about this the better. You will never be Yu-Gi-Oh!!!! CRASH LANDING ON YOU, OR, WHAT IF A SOUTH KOREAN MILLIONAIRE MET A NORTH KOREAN SOLDIER AND THEY FELL IN LOVE — Best rom com I've ever seen quite frankly like 11/10 it WAS a bit cheesy for me at times but by god that's what it's about! Really tremendous and makes you believe in the power of heterosexual love. The supporting cast is also SO amazing as is their dynamic. I laughed, I cried, I give this 5/5 stars. BEYOND EVIL, OR, WHAT IF YOU WERE THE MURDERER I WAS INVESTIGATING AND I WAS ALSO INVESTIGATING YOU AND WE BOTH SPIDERMAN POINTED FINGERS AT EACH OTHER UNTIL WE FELL IN LOVE — 11/10. Gay as hell. Go watch it.

And I have been recommended to watch in future, or want to watch:

Slings and Arrows, MASH, Heaven's Official Blessing, Word of Honour, Hotel Del Luna, It's Okay To Not Be Okay.

Annnnd I didn't even put anime on this list but frankly nothing particularly interesting or worthy this season or last EXCEPT:

TIGER AND BUNNY: S2, OR, WHAT IF WE GOT A SECOND SEASON OF THE BEST GAYBAIT SUPERHERO ROMANCE OF ALL TIME — Ugh SO mad this season wasn't as stellar as S1 was and also wild that the production quality has not massively improved since 2011. Anyway in 2011 this was revolutionary but in 2022 it's not pushing boundaries enough (making them canon gay) or like doing much (a plot or villains that is interesting) but it's not totally hopeless (ryan is there) and it's still very entertaining viewing if you're a fan it's nice just to see the gang together (even if the new characters literally are pointless and add nothing and their character design is SO uncreative on a historically creative show and—) anyway. Pity Netflix dropped this all at once it's really suffering for it but I suppose we'll get a second half of the season regardless of ratings.

#kira for ts #ask #anonymous #days where you really hope the read more works.#also I didn't add recent shows like severance our flag means death etc. because frankly this was already too long. thanks for tolerating #my thoughts as always #I actually somehow hit character limits on some of these blocks. rip didn't even know that could happen

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alphardblacks · 4 years ago

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alphard black, the brightest of stars in the noble, ancient house of black — his story, in a post.

alphard was born in the may of 1927, in the month of springs last darling, marking hope for the winters end, to pollux and irma black. he had an elder sister, walburga, and a younger brother, cygnus. he was sorted into slytherin house in the september of 1938, with tom riddle.

on the way to hogwarts, he befriended the said young tom riddle. he was quiet and silent, and he seemed unfamiliar with the ways of the wizarding world. it was alphard who educated tom on the great wizarding families - something his parents had instilled in him from a young age.

it didn't take long for the young alphard to find his way. with his elder sister in the year above at school, he did his best to maintain his image. however, he soon shed it to play for slytherin in the quidditch team. his tastes were more active than academic.

one of the acquaintances he kept throughout hogwarts was tom riddle. as the boys became older, they became closer. he told tom of the history of the wizarding world, and the noble families, though he himself had no care for the subjects the strange boy wanted to explore so much.

when tom attends a quidditch match begrudgingly, he sees alphard in a new light. he's fascinated in ways men usually were not fascinated with each other - he had never known an emotion like it. it seemed as though alphard felt the same, but they kept it secret.

alphard finds that by his final year at hogwarts, he has fallen deeply for tom. and tom realises that being with alphard is the closest he would ever feel to experiencing love. alphard didn't worship tom the way the others did. they were equals. but alas; they could never be.

but toms heart grew darker and his ideas for the future became too much for alphard to bear. each day he was less of the man he loved. alphard confronts tom about this, and in a rage, tom tells him they can never be together regardless, because of society, so he will not change.

alphard leaves hogwarts to take part in the war effort, to distance himself from the wizarding world that tom was infiltrating and slowly disrupting. whilst the other soldiers discussed their future wives and children, he could only think of the life he would never have with tom.

alphard was involved in a battle that left him injured, and news spread to his family that he was dead, including tom riddle. this loss is what makes tom snap, and his spree of killings worsen. by the time alphard recovers, the pain of what tom has done is too much to bear.

when he returns, and despite his family's wishes, alphard never marries. he could never live a lie with a woman and could never live in happiness with a man. he never has children but adores his nephews and nieces - particularly sirius and regulus.

living with the blacks was terrible for sirius and regulus, and if it hadn't been for uncle alphard, they would live their lives in uncomfortable solitude, with suppressed personalities in order to be deemed "proper". with alphard, they were free, and for the first time, happy.

walburga detested her boys being around what she deemed "muggle activities". alphard, being in the war, had picked up much of these, and showed them to his nephews. the nephews would visit him over summer and inspect his medals, whilst he told the in awe pair his war stories.

a core memory for the boys was alphard taking them to muggle london; buying sirius his first record from a stall, showing regulus muggle books like treasure island. he takes them to see movies, and the boys were too giddy to stay silent, though had to remain proper at home.

often, he would find the boys in their room at his estate, battling with sticks and pretending to be "spartacus". regulus particularly enjoyed their re-enactments of "a hard days night", where he would play ringo and pretend to drum for hours.

and as a young child, little regulus had been inspecting alphards hogwarts memories when he smashed a photo of him, and a young man, side by side. of course, as he always did, sirius told him to run upstairs, often taking the blame to spare his little brother from the rod.

fear filled sirius' heart, thinking of his punishment when alphard has turned the corner to inspect what happened. "i'm sorry uncle alphard!" he blurted out, too used to his mother and fathers cruel ways, and their punishments.

however, the emotion on alphards face was not anger, but worry. "did you hurt yourself? there's glass everywhere ..." for the first time sirius had experienced, alphard looked at him with a smile, and ruffled his hair. "don't be sorry, my boy. it's easily fixed."

tears filled the child's eyes, and he hugged the man tightly; he had never heard those words before. he had never hugged anyone before. his uncle embraced him tightly, protectively, and sirius knew that he would never be unloved so long as he had his uncle.

when sirius was sorted into gryffindor, he was full of terror. but his monthly letters from uncle alphard were full of encouragement; encouragement that made him accept his difference to his family. he questioned his family and their beliefs.

but when sirius matures more, he starts noticing that his feelings for his friend remus were changing. not friendship - something more. something strange. he knew that even the muggles didn't accept this sort of thing. he was broken, just like the picture. what would he do?

he and the marauders had snuck firewhiskey from a teachers office and in the heat of the moment, he kisses remus. he's in shock when moony kisses him back. when the firewhiskey wears off, he feels mortified that he would do such a thing. his family would hate him.

he's utterly terrified. one summer break, he lets it slip accidentally to alphard. he knows that this would be the end of his happiness with his uncle, and he would be sent away. his uncle merely smiled, and told him he couldn't be fixed.

because just like him, he wasn't broken.

and with this, sirius has fully bloomed into his true self. no longer does he sit and let slytherins talk ill of muglgeborns. he challenges his family. he challenges his mother. he becomes everything that alphard is proud of, and walburga detests.

when sirius is kicked out, alphard welcomes him with open offers and arms, though his nephew had flew the best and grown up; going to james instead. dear little regulus, on the other hand, is distant and colder, and alphard worries deeply for his dear nephew.

due to sirius' boisterous nature, his mother worsens her destructive attitude on regulus. he falls in with difficult crowds. no longer is he duelling as spartacus, but learning curses. the only drumming beat was his terrified heart when he was first recruited.

tom riddle is still a looming threat, and alphard knows it. he's still believed to be dead and he doesn't want to reach out. when sirius joins the order, he supports his nephew - they're the only hope. he would rather see tom destroyed than the evil man he had once loved.

despite all this, alphard still holds deep feelings for his former lover. deep feelings he could never let go of. as if he clung to the hope that tom could change.

until, during dinner, one night, he sees a dark mark on his little nephews arm that makes his blood run cold.

alphard and his pleading with regulus to get away from tom is the final push for the boy. he implores regulus to choose a better path, he is not a bad person, and he is not a death eater. this is what drives regulus and his sacrifice for the locket. uncle alphard was never wrong.

alphard blames himself for the loss of regulus. his little nephew; the baby boy he once held when walburga detested the sight of her 'sickly' little baby. he's a broken man. the beloved boy he had once loved like his own son was no more. because he couldn't protect him.

meanwhile, peter tells voldemort of his plans to betray the potters. that sirius would be perfectly set up, and even his uncle couldn't support his case. voldemort freezes when he hears the name; the name he hadn't heard since he went by "tom". alphard was alive.

for a moment, peter sees something flicker in toms eyes. even bellatrix notices the beat in the conversation. all those years he had grieved for alphard in the most wicked way. rage consumed him. he would destroy the potters, and the wretched black nephew alphard loved so dearly.

the broken alphard sits, in solitude; writing his will and leaving his fortune to young sirius, in the hopes that the fight would continue on. he knew he was destined to end this way. no happy ending. he pays one final visit to a former friend.

his former lover.

"all those years wasted, fighting opposite sides - and here we are, having precious few moments back. we could've ruled together, the two of us. i wanted you by my side.

goodbye, old friend."

if you've made it this far, thank you for reading my rambling headcanon on alphard black. three cheers for the best uncle in the world, and remember to stan tomphard.

(thread credit: narcissariddles on twitter)

#harry potter #alphard black #tom riddle #tomphard #serpentstar #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #regulus black #harry potter headcanon #headcanon #marauders #all the young dudes #atyd

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softschofield · 4 years ago

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(1/2) do you have any headcannons for baumer? I don't know a lot about ww1 but I really want to imagine scenario where this german baby gets to live! Do you think he'll thrive (assuming he survived getting strangled by scho) if by chance he had the unfortunately luck of meeting the brits and getting caught? I love your account btw, reading all your 1917 posts is fuel for my soul

hello my love!!!! i haven’t been active in waaaay too long but thank you so much for your gorgeous ask, you’re such a sweetheart ♡♡

so! i’ve posted a few short tidbits about canon era bäumer (and kilgour) headcanons before and after the war - here, here, here, and here - but i’ve never really gone in depth about what i think his life was like, and what it could have been if he’d lived. hold on, lemme get back into 1917 mode, it’s schofield playlist time

so, first, let’s focus on the part of your ask that deals with being caught by the british. there’s an excellent web article about german POWs (prisoners of war) that you can flick through here, but what it all boils down to is a few key points: it’s thought that survival rates of german prisoners in british camps could have been as high as 97%; there are numerous accounts of works of art, literature, and music being produced in those camps; after the signing of the armistice, the british helped to repatriate its prisoners, while those being held by russia were forced to find they own way back home; and beginning in 1917, german POWs were no longer sent to britain and used for labour because of opposition from trade unions (or they started to be used in britain in 1917? i have two sources contradicting each other), but they were still used in france and north africa on the battlefields.

but though those POWs from 1917 onwards may not have had to face vitriol and mistreatment from the british at home, they had to contend with the horror of life at the front. it was considered the worst place to be a prisoner. france, for instance, had german POWs work under shellfire for months on the verdun battlefield, aka “the mincing machine”, in 1916. understandably, combat-related deaths were common - minus any actual combat. because they were enemy soldiers, because there were little to no tangible consequences, and because they needed the manpower, it didn’t matter if these POWs suffered, lived, or died. i don’t have any sources to cite for this theory, but i expect germans were sent to do tasks the BEF would hesitate to ask their own soldiers to do - simply because if there was any cognitive dissonance still sticking in the generals’ craw about sending their own boys into a slaughter, they would have no such qualms about using german boys.

at that time, the rules for treatment of prisoners of war were stipulated in the “convention respecting the laws and customs of war on land”, part of the hague convention, which was signed on october 18, 1907. chapter ii, article 4 stated that “prisoners must be humanely treated”, and this meant ensuring that there was no abuse or forced labor in any of the camps. of course, because we know how desperate each party became in the war, and because we know human nature, this didn’t happen.

Prisoner labour was key to the war effort of many states. Overall by 1916, across Europe most non-officer prisoners of war, whom it was legal for the captor to put to work under international law, were working, some returning to the prisoner of war camp at night, others lodged under guard near to their place of work. For those housed outside the camp conditions could vary considerably. While prisoner of war camps were inspected during the war by the Red Cross, working units outside the camp were rarely inspected. The worst camps, however, were those run by armies near the front line. By 1916, the British, French, German, Austro-Hungarian and Russian armies were all keeping permanent units of prisoners as forced labourers for the army at or near the front. These men had to work under shellfire and live in desolate, unhygienic conditions. (x)

so, basically, let’s hope bäumer wouldn’t have gotten captured had he survived!

now, let’s move onto two other possibilities: one, that he fled écoust with müller, found his way to the hindenburg and reunited with his battalion, and endured the rest of the war; two, that he deserted. i’ve already said that i think he and müller had deserted and were in hiding in écoust, so i like that theory the best - and i think it makes for the best story.

so basically, i like to think bäumer took scho and the death of his friend in the lockhouse as signs from god that it was enough, that this place was death, that he had to get out. the english had discovered the hindenburg line and they would be descending upon this part of france any day - they’d already hid in the rubble of the buildings and watched the convoy shuffle past earlier that day.

so, with bruises blooming round his throat, he embarks on a journey across france, trying to find his way back to germany through raging battles, across no man’s lands, through abandoned trenches and half-collapsed bunkers, skirting around villages he can hear german drifting from and skirting further yet around villages he hears english singing in, discarding his uniform for a dead farmer’s trousers and shirt he finds in a shelled farmhouse. it becomes a parallel journey to scho’s, though much, much longer. it takes him three weeks, though time stops having any meaning long before that.

somewhere along the way, müller is killed. now alone, too afraid to sleep unless there’s something behind his back, numb and flinching at every little sound, slipping into unconsciousness against his will because his body is so broken and exhausted and yelping out in terror every time he realises he’s closed his eyes, bäumer continues on. he knows a few scraps of childhood french and mumbles his way through that on the few occasions he runs into german or english soldiers, head bowed and eyes down, the elbows of his sleeves in tatters, flinching in silence when the germans spit on this bare-footed french farm boy and laugh. the rest of the time, he doesn’t speak. he doesn’t dare accept kindnesses or pity from anyone. he becomes a bitter wraith trudging along a war-torn country in the vague direction of home.

and then, finally, he makes it home. in my mind, bäumer comes from osnabrück, purely because that’s where erich maria remarque was from and, in my mind, bäumer in all quiet on the western front is our boy’s cousin ♡ so he comes back to his mother, to his ivy-covered childhood home with his neat little bedroom on the second floor and the creaking stairs and the kitchen that smells like potato cakes. dirty and bruised, the villagers don’t recognise him - the villagers who babysat him as a child, who let him help bake cakes and pick apples from the orchard behind the church, who cooed at him adoringly when he played the organ at a christmas service when he was ten and cried when he fumbled a key. they watch him distrustingly and sneer about him behind their hands.

his mother, dull-eyed and skinner than he’s ever seen her, comes home from collecting her weekly rations, the rations she’s always sent more than she can afford to give away to him, to find him with a steaming cup of tea in the kitchen. she cries and shouts and pulls him to her, and he lets her hold him and doesn’t notice there’s tears on his cheeks through all his numbness; and for the rest of the war, they keep his presence a secret. a deserter, a coward, a traitor - someone, a childhood teacher or a neighbour or the grieving mother of a dead boy who deserved to come home more than he did, would have turned him in and they both know what would have happened to him then.

and so, for a year and a half, he stays in the house during the day, and wanders the fields and woods at night, and reads and reads and doesn’t take in a single word. sometimes he’ll wake up and it’ll be the engländer’s hands round his throat and flares in the sky. sometimes he’ll wake up and it’ll be the gurgle in müller’s chest. sometimes he’ll drift asleep in a meadow and wake up thinking he still has miles to go before he reaches home. sometimes there really is shellfire in the distance - shellfire falling upon boys braver than him, falling upon the boys who stayed, the boys still screaming in the trenches and in the mud. slowly, the bitterness turns to self-loathing. he snaps at his mother and meets the eyes of villagers like he’s daring them to recognise him, to call him all the names he calls himself. he loses himself.

he stays awake at night, alone in his room, imagining his discarded uniform being driven by the rain into the mud, imagining all the things that would happen if he went back to his battalion. his mother has to stop him at the front door, kicking and thrashing and screaming and finally sobbing, when he convinces himself he needs to go back. she lets him hit her as she holds him, and eventually he hugs her back and weeps.

in late 1918, with the armistice looming, the news comes that his cousin has been killed.

and eventually he somehow meets kilgour and ends up with him in england and they settle down in a little countryside cottage, and heal, and live happily ever after, and every year he goes back and visits his mother and she’s happy too and they have a wonderful relationship and i love them. kilgour slowly learns how to process his trauma in a way that isn’t just putting on a smile and making himself believe it’s real, and bäumer lets go of his bitterness and regains his softness and eventually his heart feels quiet and gentle again and he can read like he used to, and they’re happy ♡

#anon #re the first part: as always it's incredibly frustrating trying to find information about the german perspective in ww1 #at least just at a cursory glance - so i did my best ♡♡#1917 #mine #ilysm anon!!!! i went off on a complete ramble but thank you for getting me back in the 1917 headspace you angel!!!!!#♡#i'd just like to add a little disclaimer that i do think bäumer died in écoust and so i only think he ends up with kilgour in modern aus #but for the sake of this ask i LOVED exploring another possibility :')#asks #and disclaimer number 2 just because i hate the way women are always excluded from discussions about war: there WERE female POWs xx

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dokidoki-tae · 5 years ago

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I don't know if you're doing these at the moment but could you do La Squadra reacting to a s/o who has a stand called [FOREVER YOUNG], which does as the name implies keeping the user youthful even after many decades. However there is quite the catch as due to a large accident many years ago the s/o is now essentially a walking, talking corpse&has to take extra care of their body using paint&repair putty (think like Death Becomes Her)& they were largely keeping this a secret until they were (pt1)

(Pt2) walked in upon doing some "repairs" or hasmiraculously lived through some crazy kind of accident like falling down thestairs and twisting their neck or getting a hole blown out their stomach. Howwould the boys react (a little embarrassed this took 2 asks 😳)

Sorry for the long wait. This is a pretty cool stand idea! Definitely fun to write scenarios about it!

Risotto: The second he sees you, he stops in histracks, lets out an audible grunt, and excuses himself, quietly apologizing forintruding as he shuts the door. In all your life, you’ve never seen him sostunned before. He’s quite shocked, to say the least, and you don’t see him therest of the day after you’re done “repairing” yourself for the day. You’ve experiencedhell for most of your life and were lucky enough to live through it thanks toyour stand, but there was nothing that could compare to the silence from yourpartner; you worried he was disgusted by your condition and felt guilty for nottelling him about it even though you’ve been together so long. You knew he wasin his office, you eventually you made your way there and hesitantly opened thedoor, peeking your head through to find Risotto sitting in his chair, fingerslaced together as his rested on top. He sat there somberly, his eyes slowlymeeting yours when he told you to come in. “How long have you lived like this?Are you even alive?” His questions caused your breath to hitch, a shiverrunning up your spine. Your mouth opened and closed as you struggled to findthe right words. When you began to tell him about your stand and its ability, henever looked away, never blink. You couldn’t help but shrink into yourself,shoulders dropping the more you spoke and felt scared by the whole situation. “Areyou alright?” The concern in his voice was evident and helped your mood bounceback up for a split second. “I am,” you whispered. He stood up and made his wayto you and embraced you, holding you like a fragile glass figure.

Prosciutto: His reaction is similar to Risotto whenhe walks in on your but deviates from there. He’s starting, wide-eyed and jaw dropped.When he shakes himself from the initial shock of seeing you like that, he takesa step forward and aggressively starts questioning you about your appearance, eventuallylooming over and gripping your shoulders forcing you to look at him, demandinganswers. If you were to be honest, his forcefulness as frightening and was yourfear when you were trying to work up the courage to tell him about your circumstances.Your gaze dropped to the floor, feeling ashamed and monstrous. Prosciutto noticedimmediately, clicked his tongue as he internally chastised himself for his lossof composure. He released his grip from your shoulder and felt his gentle touchon your cheek, feeling him wipe a tear from your face; you didn’t even noticeyou were crying. He apologized, tone gentle, as he kissed your forehead. You foughtback a whimper, unable to believe what was happening. You looked back at him, lookinginto his deep blue eyes staring at you with concern. He voiced his concern foryou, asking you again about your appearance in a much more sensitive approach. Helistened attentively about your stand, finally revealing the catch of yourstand. He asked you if you felt any pain, holding your hand with a gentlenessthat was unlike you’ve seen before and you even felt it trembling as you spoketo him. “I will make sure nothing more happens to you.”

Pesci: It was your first-time taking Pesci on amission, usually he was following Prosciutto considering the blond was hisprimary mentor. But you were happy to have your partner with you and give him alittle guidance. Prosciutto tended to be harsh and attempted to erasure all thegentleness within Pesci. You hoped that this mission would be a good examplethat Pesci didn’t have to erasure the fundamental parts of himself and become “Prosciuttojr.” to be a competent mafioso. You hoped you were a good substitute mentor,but you had found yourself too protective and ended up getting severally woundedduring the mission. While your stand [FOREVER YOUNG] kept you alive, trying tocome up with ways to explain to the unconscious Pesci how you survived your woundswas going to be difficult. During the mission, it turns out there were moreenemies than originally believed, and you were ambushed. You knew your standcould handle the firepower directed at the two of you, and so you made the decisionto essentially become cannon fodder to be able to take on your enemies. Pesciwas terrified and horrified to see you in the line of fire and screamed interror when he saw the bullets pierced your body. It helped ignite a fire inhim, and he helped you take down the enemies. After the battle, you stoodthere, blood oozing out the holes covering your body. When you turned to lookat Pesci, he got one good look at you and passed out. That is how you ended up raggingPesci to your vehicle and laid him in the back seat while you took the driver'sseat, waiting patiently until he woke up. When he came to, he called your nameand turned to look at him with a gentle smile on your face. “Morning, sleepyhead.”Heavy tears traveled down his face, jumping up and throwing himself at you tohug you. “Y-y-you a-a-alive! I’m so g-g-glad! I d-don’t know h-how but I don’tcare! Thank g-god!” He sobbed, burying his tearful face into your hair. Perhapswhen you get home, you can finally tell him about your stand.

Formaggio: “Holy shit…” You were regaining consciousnessand the first thing you hear was the shocked voice of your stunned partner. Youreyes slowly opened, vision still blurry as you attempted to focus in on thefigure looking down on you; it was no doubt Formaggio, you knew that bald head well.When your vision became clearer, you realized Formaggio looking down at you witha dumbfounded look on his face. “Maggio… Is everthi-ugh” you groan and winced.Your neck was killing you. “Every…” he paused and gulped. “Everything isalright…I think…You’re alive…I mean…I think you are…I think…” He began to mutterincoherently. You narrowed your eyes in confusion about the entire situationbecause you couldn’t remember how you blacked out to begin with. “What happened?”you asked. He was holding you but held you at a distance from his body likeyou were some strange foreign object. “Some fucker got to you and tried to breakyour neck. . . and well... .He was kind of successful. . . I killed him,thinking he killed you but. . .” he trailed off again. Your heart poundedagainst your chest rapidly, reaching up to feel your neck and realizing whathad happened. Your enemy managed to twist your neck and break it. You signed infrustration, knowing you had to explain the complexity of your stand toFormaggio. You know you should have told him about it a long time again, buthow do you explain it when you didn’t entirely understand it yourself? Youtried to sit up with Formaggio acting as support. “You sure you wanna sit up,babe?” You felt a lump in your throat, loving that he still referred to youwith the endearing pet name he always called you. Perhaps he isn’t disgusted byyou after all. “I’ll be fine. This isn’t the first time this has happened tome.” You assured him. “Seriously?” You sat there, neck twisted as you explain yourstands powers. Formaggio looked confused but was supportive at the end. “Babe,you’re so fucking cool.” He looked at you in awe, forcing a blush out of you. “Thankyou, Maggio. Now…do you want to twist my neck back into place for me?” You askand laughed when an audible “EEK!” came out of Formaggio’s mouth. You hope youcould pass off the tears as tears of laughter.

Illuso: Illuso has been avoiding you for a while now,and it was beginning to work your last nerve. If he had a problem with yourrelationship, he needs to tell you instead of ignoring you. What made mattersworse if that your lived and worked together. When you were in the same room ashim, it was hard to confront him because the others were around, and you didn’twant to cause a scene. You tried to let it go, but your heart was hurtingbecause of his actions. Nevertheless, you tried to remain professional becauseyou were coworkers first and lovers second; that’s how Risotto said when youfound out about your relationship. But the last straw was after a meeting, you tookthe opportunity to approach Illuso and speak to him even though the others werein the room, promising yourself you’d remain calm and composed, but when he wouldn’teven look at you when you tried to talk to him set you off. Before you couldstop yourself, your hand landed on his cheek, forcing him to topple over. Tearswere streaming down your face, the others watching you in silence. You lookedat Illuso, catching a glimpse as a trail of blood traveled down his chin beforeyou excused yourself. When you were in your room, you finally let the tearsfall and sobs escape your throat, legs losing their strength as you slid tothe ground until you fell asleep. When you opened your eyes, you were no longeron the ground but on your bed, and to your surprise, so was Illuso. The angerfrom the meeting began to emerge again, pushing him off to wake him up. “Fuck!”He muttered, pulling himself back up to catch you staring angrily at him. Hewas angry too, but it quickly vanished and instead muttered out an apology. “What?”You spat with more venom than you wanted. “I’m sorry for ignoring you…” He wasmore specific. “So you were ignoring me then.” Your heart began to ache again.You were unfortunately right. “Why?” You needed to know. After a pause, heexplained. “I saw you…when I used my stand to look through your mirror” Yourheart dropped. “You saw me…?” you gulped. “Your body. . .its condition,” he explainedfurther. Your initial reaction was fear followed by anger. “What? So you're disgustedby me, right?!” You shouted through tears. “You think I’m some freak?!” You couldn’thold yourself back. You felt humiliated. “Why the hell were you even spying onme your fucking pervert?!” You felt like you were going crazy. You wanted tocurl up into a ball and disappear until you fell on your back. Illuso was nowon top, putting you into a tight embrace. “I’m sorry,” he uncharacteristically apologized.“I just didn’t know how to respond.” You broke down, sobbing and weeping, “howdo you think I feel?” You wailed. You laid there, Illuso never letting go as yourlet every last tear you could shed escape, wondering if you could repair yourrelationship with Illuso as easily as you could your body.

Melone: You kept your stands ability a secret fromMelone, afraid that if he found out he’d treat you as a test subject ratherthan his lover and partner. You were extremely careful with your movements andmade sure he never saw you as you “freshened up.” Almost all the others knew aboutyour stand, which is why you had the liberty to be a bit more reckless comparedto your missions with Melone. You couldn’t risk him seeing you essentiallycoming back to life from a wound that would be fatal to the average person. Butyou were careless one morning when you let your guard down because you thought Melonewas still on a mission unaware that he had returned sooner than expected. Thatis how he discovered your condition. You both looked at each other in stunned silencedbefore you screamed at him to get out, but he didn’t listen. “Amore, your body-“He began before you cut him off with screams ordering him to leave you alone.He obeyed and left the room, looking back at your with concerned laced withcuriosity. You couldn’t cry, only shake in fear at what will happen to yourrelationship with Melone. Will you become one of his experiments? His lab rats?Will you be nothing more than something to dissect? You don’t know how muchtime has passed, but the sun was setting when you heard a knock, knowing it wasMelone. You prepared yourself for whatever was going to happen. If Melone wasgoing to make you one of his experiments, surely the others would intervene andstop him. When he walked in, you prepared for the worst but were met with tenderness.“Amore, tell me what happened to you?” Your original tough exterior broke asyou told him about your stand. “Incredible, amore. You are simply incredible.”He complimented you, excitement evident in his voice. “To think such an amazingperson was my lover. You are like a god(dess)!” He proclaimed. “Y-you don’twant to dissect me?” You asked nervously. “Dissect!? NO! I could never defileyour body!” He pushed you on your back and crawled on top where he tilted yourhead to the side to pepper your neck in kisses. “My purpose is to worship you,amore.”

Ghiaccio: “LET ME SEE THEM!!” You heard Ghiaccio’sscreams from the other side of the door, knowing that someone from the team was preventing his entering from the room you were currently being patched up by Risotto. Severalhours earlier, you were on a mission with Illuso and Formaggio and ended upgetting caught in the crossfire, leaving you gravely injured. Your survival shockedthe two men, effectively freaking them out by how awake and coherent you were. Itwas then that you explained your stand. “Only Risotto and Prosciutto know…” yousaid as they drove you back to the base to get stitched up. “Don’t let Ghiaccioknow…” you quietly pleaded. When you got to base, Illuso distracted Ghiaccio soFormaggio could sneak you into the medical room to get Risotto to help seal thewounds. Well, it wasn’t long before Ghiaccio got wind that you were injured andwas now demanding to see you. He was a powerful man with a powerful stand andthere was no one that was going to stand in his way to see you. Unsurprisingly,he forced his way in and saw Risotto’s closing one of many wounds, unfazed bythe curly-haired man’s entrance. “WHAT THE. . .hell,” the last word came out asa confused whisper. His eyes darted from one wound to another, shocked that youwere still alive from those kinds of injuries. For once, Ghiaccio was stunnedsilent. “[Name] has a special stand,” Risotto began, “that makes immortal.” Hewasn’t entirely word, but immortal was too much. “I’ll leave you too.” Risottostood, leaving you with open wounds but first needed you two to overcome this.When he closed the door, neither you or Ghiaccio knew how to start, but youknew how much Ghiaccio hated awkward silence so he would break first. “What thefuck happened to you?” You winced at his words but knew it came with dating him.When you explained what happened on the mission, he began to turn red. “Why thefuck weren’t you more careful?! You think just because you can survive thisshit that you can act like a dumbass and endanger yourself?!” He yelled “Pissesme off!” He kicked a chair in the process. “Do you think I’m disgusting?” Helooked taken aback. “HUH!?” He looked at you, wondering if you were asking aserious question. When he saw the look of fear in your eyes, he knew this wasn’ta joke. “Why the hell would I find you disgusting? Why do you always ask dumb questions?”He grabbed your hand and ran his thumb over your knuckles. “Be careful nexttime, idiot.” He mumbled as a tint of pink dusted the top of his ears.

#jjba #vento aureo #risotto nero #prosciutto #pesci #formaggio #illuso #ghiaccio #melone #my writing #my hcs #shay rambles #Anonymous

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mindfulwrath · 7 years ago

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Just With My Voice (Rewrite)

New and improved! Now with fewer harmful stereotypes!

But in all seriousness, thank you to those who pointed out that the original version of this was shitty. The first half is essentially unchanged, but the second half has been rewritten from scratch. I hope that I’ve fixed the issues in this rewrite, and that I can continue to provide stories that are interestingly dark without playing into hurtful tropes.

Once again, thanks to @starlalalala for motivating me to Do This Thing.

Words: 1,408 Warnings: Emotional abuse, manipulation, noncon elements, gaslighting AO3

Gavin doesn't fully realize just how badly he's fucked up until the mask comes off.

Ryan bursts into the penthouse in full storm, rips the mask off and throws it aside. He comes after Gavin like a freight train. He's covered in blood and sweat and gunpowder. The whole flat rattles with his footsteps.

He's been crying.

Gavin squawks and scrambles back, flattens himself against the wall. His eyes dart. He clambers around the back of the TV just before Ryan gets to him. Ryan shoves the whole cabinet over—TV, Xbox, Blu-Ray player, all smash on the floor with a thud that judders the windows.

With a scream, Gavin flees for the kitchen. Ryan catches him by the throat before he gets two steps, slams him back into the wall. His feet dangle. He can't breathe.

Ryan—! he chokes, the red-hot heel of Ryan's hand crushing his Adam's apple against his spine.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Ryan demands. His voice cracks, shaking. Gavin's never seen him so angry. He clutches Ryan's wrist, kicking uselessly while his tongue and eyes swell up.

Ghkhh! he says. He taps Ryan's wrist frantically. Ryan pulls him back just to slam him into the wall again. Gavin's ears start ringing.

"You think this is fucking funny? You think this is fucking cute, Gavin?"

All that comes out is a high-pitched whistle as Gavin struggles to breathe. Panic claws at his chest, the amygdaloid gut-punch terror of onrushing death. His heels beat a desperate rhythm against the wall, his fingernails dig into Ryan's skin.

Calm people live. Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic. Calm people live.

Through the narrowing tunnel of his vision, he meets Ryan's eyes—bloodshot, tear-stained, burning with fury—and forces his scrabbling hands to cup Ryan's cheeks instead. He wipes the tears with trembling thumbs. He can't stop his feet from kicking, but all his muscles are turning to jelly anyway. A roaring fills his ears. He can't feel his fingers. His diaphragm heaves at nothing. The only thing he can see are those eyes, those blue blue eyes, watching him die.

Just before he blacks out, Ryan drops him.

Gavin crumples, coughing and wheezing and retching. He shakes so hard it's a wonder he doesn't buzz. Ryan's still right there, still looming. Gavin starts to crawl away from him and Ryan reels back to kick him. Gavin throws up his hands and presses his shoulder to the wall.

"Not the face!" he squeaks.

"Explain," Ryan orders, and he's wrecked. "Now."

"Ryan, listen to me, Ryan," says Gavin. "He saw your face! Nobody gets to see your face and live!"

"Makes things real damn unfortunate for you, doesn't it," he growls. There's a knife in his hand. A panicked laugh bubbles out through Gavin's lips and he raises his hands a little higher, pleading.

"Except me!" he says. "It wasn't personal, love, it—"

"Don't call me that!" he roars, and Gavin flinches, and Ryan, the perfect idiot, hesitates.

"I'm sorry," Gavin whimpers, pressing his advantage. He allows his voice shake just as much as it wants to, his hands to tremble. The fear is real, even if the helplessness is not.

"I just—want—a reason," Ryan says. He has to gasp for breath. The point of the knife draws silver squiggles in the air.

"Because that's the business, love," Gavin says, peeking up between his upraised hands at Ryan. The blue eyes are bloodshot. There are tears on his face. "I did tell you you'd have to kill him. I said! It's not my fault if you went against instructions. Had to improvise after that, didn't I. You might've been killed!"

"He wasn't going to hurt me." His voice is choked. The aggression is bleeding out of his stance, his hand loosening on the knife. That'll be the doubt, catching up with him.

Gavin has spent a long time building the foundations of this house.

He braces his shoulder against the wall and slowly slides up it until he's standing again. Ryan doesn't go for him, which wasn't a sure bet. He stretches out a hand and Ryan recoils.

"Don't touch me," Ryan snaps. The hand clenches on the knife again. Gavin cowers, surrendering.

"Look, I've done my best," he protests. "I've done my bit of the job, Ryan, just like I always do. If you go off-script like that, yeah, it's gonna go tits-up."

"Stop . . . just stop," Ryan says, shaking his head. He shut his eyes and turns his face away. Gavin seizes his opportunity.

In one fluid step he slips right up to Ryan and cups his face in his hands again. Ryan goes rigid. The knife flicks up. The point pricks between two of Gavin's ribs. Gavin flinches, but he doesn't let go.

It probably saves his life.

"Ryan, love," he murmurs. He wipes the tears off his face. The knife is still poking him in the side, quivering with tension. One sharp shove and Gavin will be down a lung. "I'm sorry this's happened, but honestly, you can't blame me. I thought you were done for! I couldn't risk getting you hurt."

"You're lying to me," Ryan says miserably.

"Nah, come off it," says Gavin. He slides his hand down Ryan's arm, encouraging him to lower the knife. It takes a little more encouraging than he'd like, but he manages to push Ryan's hand back down to his side, and then to take the knife from him, and then to chuck it aside.

"He was. . . ." Ryan whispers, and breaks off. Another tear slides down his cheek. Gavin wipes it away.

"You've only set yourself up for heartbreak," he says. "This is why you can't go about kissing blokes who aren't me. I'm the only one who's gonna bloody survive it, en't I?"

"You—you told me to," Ryan says, pulling away from him.

"Wot?" says Gavin. "Nah, come off it, I never."

"Yes you did. I remember you saying—"

"You think you remember, love," Gavin says kindly. He eases his way in again. "Your mind plays its little tricks on you, especially when you're being V. That's why you've got me. That's why you always listen to Gavvy."

The only trick Ryan's mind has ever played on him is convincing him that Gavin's trustworthy. There's no such person as the Vagabond, but it simply wouldn't do to let Ryan believe that. The crazier he thinks he is, the easier it gets.

"I—but I did, you said—"

Progress has been slow.

"Shh, easy," says Gavin. "Let's forget all about this, yeah? All in the past, no harm done."

Ryan squeezes his eyes shut again. His hand starts to reach for another knife—he has half a dozen still. Before it can get there, Gavin leans in and presses a kiss to his lips. Ryan recoils immediately.

"Don't—" he tries. Gavin puts a hand on the back of his head and pulls him back in. He's gentle, but firm. He keeps hold of Ryan until he stops trying to pull away.

"There we are," Gavin says gently, as Ryan settles into cow-eyed docility. "See? Everything's fine, when you listen to Gavvy."

Ryan says nothing. Gavin kisses him again, looping his arms around his neck.

"Job well done, though," Gavin continues. "Maybe you'd like a cheeky little reward, before Mum and Dad and Michael get back? Hm? Just a cheeky little toss. Take the edge off."

"Fine," Ryan says dully.

"You'll feel better afterwards," Gavin promises, leading him backwards towards the bedroom. "You always do." He never does. "Plus, you can make it up to me for the absolute tantrum Geoff'll pitch when he sees what you've done to his gubs."

"Sorry," he says.

He puts up no resistance as Gavin takes him to the bedroom. Geoff and Jack and Michael won't be there for an hour, at least, which will give Gavin time to think up an excuse for the shattered entertainment center. He settles onto the bed and pulls Ryan down on top of him. This interaction is well-rehearsed enough that Ryan doesn't need much coaching. Gavin keeps talking him through it anyway, just for the sound of his own voice.

"That's it, love," he murmurs, one hand tangled in Ryan's hair, his head tilted back in bliss. "Tease it."

And Ryan, for once, does exactly what he's told.

#ahfic #fahc #freewood #fanfic #abuse /#manipulation /#gaslighting /#noncon /#dubcon /#ragehappy

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theboysfromaustin · 1 year ago

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Halloween repost: The Ballad of the Creepy House

----

That house had an air of fucked-upedness.

It was a two story house, kind of Victorian, I guess? Lot of gingerbread trim. Very pretty. It had a basement as well, I don't remember an attic - I never went into one, the basement was bad enough.

Nobody liked that fuckin' basement. Redfin photos from when my aunt moved my grandma out due to that fucker Alzheimer's don't even go in the dark half.

Don't blame them, I don't think realtors get paid enough to potentially be dragged to hell.

Had a goddamn Rorschach test black and blue mark on my whole damn back after that.

Maybe that explains why my spine hurts so bad now at 35.

Huh.

I always got stuck in the room next to the bathroom.

That room was….awful.

First of all.

But that wasn't the worst part, somehow. Oh no.

This had no solid door.

This does sound like me, so I believe it.

Fuck that room.

I kind of would have liked to have owned that house so I could uncover the vast amounts of crazy bullshit that lurked within its walls, but I am not a rich man, and it honestly needed a lot of repair work done.

Also the stairs would have eventually claimed my life, this I know.

Also, there was a large garage in the back with an attic filled with things. All I remember being in there was a vintage ride-on Dalmatian toy that had a terrible face and, given the rest of the shit about that house, probably rolled around there on its own.

Christ.

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